


When to Leave the Party

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Harry Hart/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Harry, with hair chestnut brown and out of control in loose curls, and Merlin, with hair dark and balding. Both are dirty, Harry splattered with mud all over, and have grins on their faces amongst the background of green grass and gray sky. Harry’s beaming at the camera, eyes slightly closed, while Merlin’s smiling, too, but not at the camera.</p><p>He’s smiling at Harry.</p><p>Eggsy recognizes that look: this time, on Merlin’s face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When to Leave the Party

“I told you,” Harry says, once they step into the garden, “that I didn’t want a fuss.”

“It’s not every day a man comes back from the dead,” Eggsy says, even though he’s sure it happens a fair amount of times in Kingsman. “Besides, you missed your birthday when you were in a coma.”

“How inconsiderate of me,” Harry dryly replies, but plants a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Eggsy. It’s lovely.”

Eggsy flushes, knowing everyone’s eyes are on them, and judging by the raised eyebrows and startled glances, Harry’s only confirmed what’s been the source of gossip ever since he came back from Kentucky. Someone in the garden—possibly Bors—wolf-whistles, resulting in scattered laughter, which makes Eggsy’s cheeks heat up even more. Across the garden, Eggsy sees Merlin with his gaze up at the sky, unamused at the antics of his agents.

Roxy then laughs, aiming her camera at them. “Smile, both of you!”

Both do, Harry dutifully and Eggsy eagerly, and Roxy fires off two shots, then watches a stiff, shiny piece of photo paper begin to print from the camera, then another.

When they develop, Eggsy smiles and shows his to Harry. The sun is a bit in his face, so he’s squinting a little, with his lips slightly pursed in annoyance, but Harry, as always, looks pin-perfect in his suit and glasses.  

“Let me see yours,” Eggsy says.

To his surprise, Harry shakes his head. “I’m afraid I look rather silly in mine.”

“You can’t look any worse than me,” Eggsy retorts, lightly tapping his own face on the shiny, stiff paper.

Harry reluctantly turns his over.

Eggsy’s still squinting front and center, but this time, Harry’s face is turned ever so slightly to the right, the side of his mouth curled slightly upwards and his eye almost closed, crow’s feet on prominent display, and at first, Eggsy thinks that’s why Harry didn’t want him to see it, another reminder of the years between them.

But when he takes a second glance, Eggsy can see Roxy captured Harry’s expression perfectly—vulnerably open with affection for the man standing beside him.

“You look perfect, Harry,” Eggsy insists. Then he grins, breaking the slight tension. “As do I.”

Harry tweaks his nose for his cheek, but before Eggsy can retaliate, Harry’s dragged into a conversation with Merlin, and Bors beckons Eggsy over to join him and some other agents in a game of darts, which is really them throwing knives at various targets around the garden. One of Bors’ knives just barely misses Percival, who’s getting his picture taken by Roxy, and when she gleefully shows them the resulting photo, everyone starts howling.

Eggsy joins in, but his mind is still on Harry and his own stupidity in not quite believing the evidence until it was thrust in front of his face.

He thinks back to his own birthday party the week before, his and Harry’s small house crammed full of people—agents and civilians alike—but full of laughter, warmth, and heavenly aroma of chocolate cake. Roxy had taken a million pictures with her fancy, boxy camera, while Percival, dressed down in slacks and a button-up, chatted with Michelle. Ryan and Jamal challenged Merlin to a game of Cards Against Humanity, and five minutes into the game, Harry joined them with a look of restrained glee on his face. Daisy played with JB, who gave her a run around the house, including up and down the stairs.

For a minute, Eggsy simply stood and watched the first truly happy birthday he’s had in a long time. Eggsy was not religious—though his mum was before her husband died—but this—all this—he called a miracle, from Harry coming back from Kentucky to Harry kissing him back in the Kingsman medical wing, from Roxy just a friendly face in the middle of the strangest training session of his life to her being one of his best mates in a secret spy organization, from his mum and sister and him living under Dean’s thumb to Eggsy and his mum having separate flats and a restraining order against Dean and his mates.

So far, Eggsy thought, he’d smiled more times in a week than he used to in a month, and today—

“Oi, Eggsy, join your own party!” Jamal had scolded, and laughing, Eggsy did.

Everyone—with the exception of Daisy—ended up joining the Cards Against Humanity circle, and Eggsy’s sides had begun to split by the time a break was called for food, not just from the extraordinary filthy response from Percival’s white card, but the fact that this game took Harry’s posh dining room where he’d taught Eggsy proper etiquette the first time Eggsy stayed over.

Then again, Harry and Eggsy had done worse in said dining room since that night.

There had been exuberant toasts to Eggsy before eating, but Harry’s was the shortest and sweetest.

“Happy birthday to you, my dear, and I’m very happy to share this moment with you,” Harry had said, raising a glass of champagne, and there had been a chorus of mock groans and giggling when Eggsy leaned and kissed Harry over the table.

Harry saying things like that makes Eggsy feel warm and almost giggly inside, like when he has too much to drink.

Harry loves him. Harry loves _him._

And Eggsy loves him, too. Despite Merlin’s warning that Harry hadn’t celebrated his birthday in years, Eggsy went ahead and decorated the garden with tasteful streamers and long table full of food, ordered from Harry’s favorite restaurant in London, and drinks. Later, when they get home, Eggsy’s going to lead Harry up the stairs and show him what else he got him for his birthday.

Now, there’s a call for cake, which Merlin brings out, and it looks brilliant, with delicate, chocolate curls and plump, bright-red strawberries. _Happy Birthday, Harry_ is written in the center with glittering gold calligraphy, which Roxy takes a picture of before Eggsy sticks a single candle in the middle.

“What’re you going to wish for?” Eggsy asks, in the chaos of everyone heading to gather around.

Harry shakes his head. “I have exactly what I want, my dear,” he murmurs and kisses him—this time, on the lips.

Bors wolf-whistles again, Roxy elbows him, and everyone laughs before launching into the birthday song. Harry endures it with a patient smile, bending down to blow out the candle, and Merlin starts cutting up the cake, handing the first piece to Harry.

“It’s your favorite,” Eggsy says shyly. “Chocolate with bourbon in it—Merlin’s idea.”

Harry smiles. “Thank you, Merlin,” he says warmly.

“As long as it has alcohol in it, you _would_ like it,” Merlin says, and Harry mock-frowns at him.

“Are you suggesting that I am an alcoholic?”

Merlin smirks. “There’s a bet going around that either you meet your end in a speculator one-man stand in the field or from alcohol poisoning.”

“I assure you that I’m planning on the first option instead,” Harry says, taking a bite out of his cake. “Much more exciting.”

“Don’t jinx yourself now,” Merlin scolds, but Eggsy can detect concern in his tone.

Who can blame him, really? Merlin had been a source of comfort and strength during V-Day and in the dark days following, and even though Eggsy mourned the man he’d fallen in love with in less than a year, Merlin’s grief had to have been enormous—as not only a handler, but as a friend of so many years. He still remembers Merlin wiping at his eyes when Eggsy got back onto the plane—after Eggsy’s own crying session with the Swedish princess—and later working all night to get Harry home after the Statesman informed them that Harry was in their hospital wing.

Eggsy privately winces, feeling guilty about dumping all his shit on Merlin when the man already had so much on his plate, especially trying to keep Kingsman running and Harry safe and the world from collapsing into pieces. Merlin’s always _there_ —everyone knows that—but Eggsy has to admit he’s taken the man for granted loads of times, relying on not only his knowledge in the field, but also his guidance outside of it. This is the man who made sure Eggsy saw the psychologists following V-Day, left him cartons of takeaway after nearly every mission, and allowed him to sleep in a rollaway bed next to Harry’s the whole time he was recovering from being shot in the head.

“Hey, Merlin,” Eggsy says, when the cake-cutting is done, and everyone’s sort of milling around or relaxing in the chairs or benches. “Thanks, guv. For everything.”

Merlin gives him a look, something Eggsy can’t quite detect, but smiles. “Thank you, Eggsy.”

“And for the party planning, too,” Eggsy continues. “I mean, the cake and decorations and all. I know you’re busy, and I know you didn’t think Harry would like it, but—”

“It’s no trouble.” Merlin sticks his fork into his own slice of cake. “I’m surprised, but he seems to be enjoying himself. Harry isn’t usually one for parties.”

Eggsy smiles, and a tiny part of him feels a bit smug at proving Merlin wrong. “Well, he deserves it.”

“He certainly does,” Merlin agrees, and they’re silent for a while, finishing up their cake.

After joining Roxy and Percival in talking about fencing, Harry asks Eggsy for a dance to the soft tones of “Cheek to Cheek.” Eggsy doesn’t see why he can’t follow the song’s directions, and he feels Harry’s nose nuzzle his ear ever so slightly before resting his cheek against Eggsy’s. The light stubble brushes against Eggsy’s skin, and the lips at Eggsy’s ear make him shiver.

“Enjoying yourself?” Harry asks.

“I should be asking you that,” Eggsy replies. “It’s _your_ party.”

“I am, quite immensely. Everything is perfect.”

“Good. Mine was perfect, too, so I wanted to return the favor.”

Harry’s arms pull him closer. “Every day with you is perfect. It was all I could do to show you.”

Eggsy pulls away briefly to duck his head, cheeks flushing. Harry’s so _open_ at times that it surprises Eggsy, who spent most of his life hiding how he truly felt in fear of Dean or someone else using his emotions like a weapon against him. And even though Eggsy thinks he’s not going to completely leave his reservations all behind, Harry’s bringing his walls down with every day they spend together.

After Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong croon their last line, Eggsy quietly excuses himself, needing to use the loo, and then makes his way into the mansion.

It’s still sort of sad that Eggsy gets a little lost, even after a good few months of being in Kingsman, but he finds the room all right and exits, heading back towards the gardens when he gets turned around yet _again._ Groaning to himself, Eggsy looks around for a landmark, trying to pinpoint his location when he spies a little door, nearly hidden behind a corner sticking out too much in the hallway.

Curious, Eggsy opens it, expecting it to be a broom closet or something, but instead, it’s a hallway, and grinning, he races down it.

At the end is another door, and behind it, is Merlin’s office in all its glory—multiple screens, a wide desk with paperwork, and his big, comfortable chair that rotates three hundred and sixty degrees.

Eggsy smirks, bounding across the room to spin around in the chair a few times and watches the screens, most of them displaying various areas around the mansion. Merlin’s got every corner, it seems, under surveillance, and Eggsy would be a little more annoyed about it if he didn’t spend months in a one-room bedroom and bathroom with a two-way mirror. Probably nothing surprises Merlin anymore.

He then notices it.

The thin, plastic slip covering the photograph is visible through a slightly-cracked open desk drawer, and Eggsy, without thinking, draws it out. It’s a polaroid one, like Roxy’s, but obviously older, with a slightly-bent corner and the colors a little faded.   

It’s Harry, with hair chestnut brown and out of control in loose curls, and Merlin, with hair dark and balding. Both are dirty, Harry splattered with mud all over, and have grins on their faces among the background of green grass and gray sky. Harry’s beaming at the camera, eyes slightly closed, while Merlin’s smiling, too, but not at the camera.

He’s smiling at Harry.

Eggsy recognizes that look: this time, on Merlin’s face.

A million questions race through his mind, competing for attention. How long had Merlin loved Harry? Did Harry know? And if he did, did he ever confront Merlin? Or did Merlin tell him? Had Harry rejected him or simply ignored it? And if Merlin didn’t get rejected, were they once involved? For how long? And why did it end? Did Merlin still—did Harry still—

“Ahem.”

Startled, Eggsy whirls around, fists instinctively raising, until he sees Merlin.

“Eggsy,” Merlin says. His voice is perfectly calm, though his eyes quickly shift from the photo to Eggsy. “Harry was wondering where you’d run off to.”

Slowly standing up, Eggsy forces a smile, putting down the photo as carefully as a loaded weapon on the desk. “Yeah, sorry, guv. I was just…” _Snooping_. “Uh, I got lost.”

Instead of calling Eggsy out on his bullshit, Merlin nods placidly. “So long as you don’t take it in your head that you can saunter in my office whenever you like. Besides, I have to respond to Jack from Statesman.”

Now, it’s Merlin who’s bullshitting, but Eggsy pretends he knows nothing about it. “All right, then. But come back to the party later, yeah?”

“I will,” Merlin replies, then steps across the room and sits in his chair, turning away from Eggsy to face his computer, a clear dismissal.

Eggsy, understanding, begins to leave, but finds himself saying, “Merlin…”

Merlin’s shoulders tense ever so slightly, and he still refuses to face Eggsy. “Yes?” he asks, clearly reluctantly.

“Did you and Harry…” Eggsy hesitates, then blurts, “Go to school together? I mean, because Harry’s got a rugby jersey, and I don’t recognize it from any professional leagues, so I thought—I thought he was maybe playing for his school, you know? And you were there, too, and…”

Merlin still doesn’t meet his gaze, instead, fluttering over to the photograph. “Yes, we did. University, though we found out later we went to the same secondary. And Harry loved rugby, even thought very briefly about going into a professional league, but it turned out it wasn’t him at all.” His lips turn up very slightly at the corners. “He did toss around the idea of getting everyone together for a game in the first months when he joined Kingsman, but nothing ever came of it, sadly. I would have liked to see that.”

This is more than what Harry’s told him, and Eggsy holds onto it. Harry’s secretive about his past to a fault, and Eggsy gets it—there’s a lot of stuff he doesn’t want to discuss, either—but sometimes, Eggsy wants to know more. Harry knows nearly all the details of his life story, and Eggsy knows so little of Harry’s.  

Eggsy realizes he’s been staring off into space, with Merlin finally looking at him, this time, with bemusement.

“Sounds like he was…” Eggsy trails off, then murmurs, “I wish I knew him sooner.”

But how old was Eggsy when Harry was in uni? He wasn’t even _alive_ back then.

Merlin was, though, and he _knew_ Harry, probably more than anyone in Harry’s life.

Eggsy remembers the day Harry woke up from his coma, safe and away from Kentucky, voice exhausted and eyes slowly blinking open. All Eggsy had been focusing on was Harry murmuring his name warmly when he spotted Eggsy across the room, but now, he recalls Merlin standing in the corner, tablet in hand, watching with an expression that Eggsy thought had looked calm, but now, he realized, might have been something like _ah, of course_.

He realizes how Merlin knew the right words to say to encourage him when Harry was in a coma the first time before V-Day; how Merlin somehow never called him out on visiting Harry covertly during his training; how Merlin gave them both the same look of _ah, of course_ after Harry reversed Merlin’s order for Eggsy to be dismissed, saying, “Nonsense, let him stay. Let him learn a thing or two.”

How long had—how did he—had Harry ever—

“Eggsy?” Merlin asks, interrupting his thoughts. “Aren’t you going to get back to the party?”

Eggsy can only manage a nod and a garbed apology before retreating, closing the door behind him.

* * *

 A few minutes later, Merlin watches the pair dance once again, this time to a song by Nancy and Frank Sinatra. Harry has a rare smile on his face, while Eggsy seems a bit distant, moving in a mechanical method, feet dragging along the grass. Briefly, when Harry turns Eggsy in his arms, Eggsy’s eyes meet Merlin’s.   

There’s a flash of something like guilt in the lad’s face before he turns away, shoulders stiff. Merlin sees Harry say something to him, eyebrows raising in question, but Eggsy shakes his head and forces an overly cheerful grin. Harry’s hand moves to cup Eggsy’s cheek, and their foreheads press together.

It’s no longer the giddy, invincible air of their youth after running across campus to avoid discovery from a roaming prefect or the later dizzyingly frightening feeling of keeping his emotions bottled up so they wouldn’t bubble from his lips at the wrong time. That day, with Harry stumbling off the pitch with his knees scraped and jersey destined for a long, soapy wash, eyes bright with the easy happiness before Kingsman, Merlin had thought about telling him. He’d seen Harry at his best and at his worst—he’d thought at the time—and he knew Harry’s eyes lingered on the occasional male physique. They were friends, best friends, and why not? There was no one else perfect for either of them except themselves.

Someone had begun snapping victory pictures, giving one to Harry and one to Merlin. Harry’s was with the two of them grinning, faces towards the camera, arms slung around the other’s shoulder in easy camaraderie.

Merlin’s had told everything he needed to know. Harry hadn’t caught that glance from him, he never had, and he never did. Later, when Merlin had been recruited into Kingsman and became Harry’s handler, he’d accepted that fact, but there were always times, especially after something that only they went through together, something horrible and messy and life-threatening. But sometimes, it was after something small—the way they could communicate with a simple glance—that got Merlin thinking of the foolish what-ifs.

He’d been watching out for Harry, from Harry’s first prank against the snotty Head Boy to countless missions whose consequences were more than a thrashing from a willow cane. He’d _seen_ Harry in so many different situations and through so much, including the failed attempts of having affairs through Kingsman, dying truly spectacular deaths that led to Harry resigning himself to being single forever.

Until Eggsy.

It isn’t uncommon for candidates to fall for their sponsors, but it’s very uncommon for sponsors to reciprocate. It had seemed very uncommon for Harry to be one of the agents to respond, let alone corner Merlin for confessions filled with hand-wringing and alcohol.

Harry now steps away from Eggsy as the song ends, happening to glance in Merlin’s direction. Across the lawn, Harry sees him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as a friendly grin stretches across his lips.                     

Merlin turns ever so slightly, looking at Harry to return the gesture. Truth be told, he’s not much of a smiler, but Merlin’s nearly always found it easy to smile around Harry.

All of them have been genuine, except for this one.

It’s only when Harry nods, moving to leave the party with Eggsy on his arm, that Merlin steps out of his corner to watch him go.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the quote "A man must know when to leave the party" from the film _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_. I’m going to admit that I have to watch it again (it’s sort of…uh, a bit confusing), but what really stuck with me was the party scene where Bill and Jim, Colin and Mark respectively, lock eyes and smile at each other across the room, as well as the photo of them after a game of rugby.


End file.
